The Warlock Insane

Chapter Three

Sometime later, Rod had dismounted and was walking slowly behind Fess, when his foot hit an icy patch. He slipped, skidded, and just barely managed to regain his balance. He looked down at the side of the trail and saw a river's sheen below him. It was frozen solid. In the distance, he could see a sled moving away, laden with bundles, pushed by an ice-skating merchant. Half-timbered buildings fronted on the water, their stucco dyed in pastels. Rod stared—it was an incongruously gay and light-hearted scene in the midst of the winter's grimness.

Then he heard the crunch of a footstep behind him.

He whirled, blood pounding in his ears, panic stringing him as taut as a trap. The lurker stepped out from behind a huge old oak, and Rod found himself staring at…

Himself.

It was him to the life—hatchet face, eagle-beak nose, wide mouth, and glower. He was even wearing the same clothing—doublet and hose, boots, gloves, cloak, and sword, though in different colors.

Rod decided to keep an eye on the sword. "Who are you?"

"Who are you?" his double demanded.

"Rod Gallowglass," Rod snapped, "Lord High Warlock." The reminder of magic lent insight, and anger. "And who the hell do you think you are, to go around wearing my face?"

"It's my face! Who do you think you are, to be wearing it?"

At least the double didn't have Rod's voice, too. "The man who was born with it, damn it!" Well, that wasn't quite true—Rod had grown into the face. "What the devil do you mean, impersonating me?"

"Me impersonating you! The audacity, the effrontery of it!"

"I notice you don't deny it!"

"All left, I deny it!" the doppelganger bawled. "You're copying me! Just what the hell do you think you're trying to get away with?"

Rod frowned, looking the man up and down. It was possible, it was just possible… "What does E = MC² mean?"

"Energy equals mass times the square of the speed of light." The stranger frowned, too. "Which is to say, energy and mass are just different aspects of the same thing. What the hell kind of question is that?"

"A very clear one. If you know the answer, it means you're from off-planet."

"Yeah, sure, and you're from off-planet if you can ask it! So what does that prove?"

"That you're an imposter."

"Imposter! What are you talking about, you fool? I'm Rod Gallowglass!"

Rod stared, shocked—and the whole scene swam in front of his eyes. He staggered, putting out a hand to brace himself against a tree trunk, afraid he would faint. Then his vision cleared, and he saw the doppelganger clearly again, glaring at him with hostility, and the clarity of inner insight hit him: he remembered. He was crazy!

Well, of course. If he was crazy, he might see anything, mightn't he? I mean, if he was having delusions, why couldn't his own self be one of those delusions?

Apparently, it was.

Rod leaned back on one hip, folding his arms. "Let me get this straight. You claim that you're Rod Gallowglass?"

"The very same." The doppelganger was looking wary now. "And who do you think you are?"

"Rod Gallowglass."

But the doppelganger didn't squawk in outrage. He stood quietly, brooding—which sent a chill shivering up Rod's spine; it was exactly what he would have done, at this juncture.

What he had done, in fact.

Rod shook himself back into gear. Denial hadn't worked, so it was time for thinking.

Why not?

"There's two of us," the doppelganger pointed out.

"Sh! Don't tell!" Rod glanced around furtively. "They'd banish us, you know."

"Banish us?" The doppelganger stared. "Who?"

"The sane people."

"You know some?"

"Well, yes, I think so," Rod admitted. "And just in case I don't, there's always my touchstone, Fess."

"My touchstone." But the doppelganger's heart wasn't in it any more; he was too busy studying the great black robot-horse. "Do you see two of us, old boy?"

"There is only one of you, Rod."

Rod shuddered—Fess had heard the doppelganger!

"But you do seem to be talking to yourself," the robot amplified. "A fascinating conversation, no doubt."

No doubt? But Rod didn't stop to ask. "We could try to figure out which one of us is real…"

"Yeah, and after that, we can try to figure out what 'real' means." The doppelganger's lip curled. "Can't you think of something a little more productive?"

"Well," Rod said, "the sensible thing is for us to join forces. I mean, if we can't tell ourselves apart, we should certainly make one hell of a unit."

"Makes sense," the doppelganger said judiciously. "But how are we going to coordinate?"

"Very easily, I should think. You take the left side, and I'll take the right."

The doppelganger seemed dubious. "How come you're willing to take the right?"

"I just see you as sinister, I guess. Try it the other way—I'll be glad to have you as my squire."

"Me be your squire? You can be my squire!"

"What, and try to live with your idea of tactics? I'd die first! No, amend that—I'd die trying."

"Not much faith in yourself, have you?" the doppelganger snorted.

That brought Rod up short. He thought about it for a minute, but didn't succeed. "Afraid not. You're obviously left."

"And will be in everything, clunkhead! You'd better take me up on my offer, and be my squire!"

"Not if you're me, bucko! If I want dumb ideas, I can make up my own!"

"Ridiculous," the doppelganger snapped. "At least / trust my own instincts!"

"Oh, yeah? How about mine?"

"Of course not!"

"Then you can't trust your own."

The doppelganger started to answer, shoaled on the logic, and froze with his mouth open. After a few moments, he closed his jaw and nodded. "Point to you. How's it feel to be one horn of a dilemma?"

"Makes me feel like wanting to blow," Rod admitted.

"Not a bad idea." The doppelganger turned away, brushing past Rod and hurrying on down the trail. "Let's go."

Rod lifted his head with a smile. "Yeah. Not a bad idea is right." He jumped to catch up.

As they plodded along through the snow with Fess behind, Rod offered, "This is going to get a little confusing. What're we going to call each other?"

"How about, 'Hey, you'?"

"Well, it certainly beats 'Hey, me.' Look, I could be Rod, and you…"

"Hold it left there." The doppelganger stopped, holding out a hand, palm up. "/ could be 'Rod.' "

"I see your point." Rod frowned. "Won't work, will it? Well, we have twenty middle names—can't we manage something with that?"

The doppelganger nodded. "Nice idea. Any preference?"

"Yeah." Rod grinned. "I'll be 'Rod,' and you can be 'Rodney.' "

The doppelganger winced. "You know I always hated that name!"

"But you did like your ancestor's version."

"True," the doppelganger mused. "I've always been partial to 'Roderick.' "

"Fine by me—you can be 'Roderick,' and I'll be 'Rodney'—but 'Rod' for short, of course." He turned away down the road.

The doppelganger gave him a dubious look as he fell into step beside him. "How come I feel like I came out on the short end, this time?"

"Just overly sensitive," Rod said breezily. "You know we've always been a little paranoid."

"True enough," the doppelganger said. Then his face cleared. "I know! Tomorrow we'll change names! How's that sound?"

"If you must." Rod sighed, then came to a halt, frowning. "Hey! How come we're walking when we could ride?"

"Good point." His other self turned back to Fess. "You don't mind carrying double, do you, old horse?"

"Not at all, Rod," the robot said, and stepped forward.

"We'll take turns in the saddle, of course," Rod noted as the doppelganger mounted.

"Oh, of course." The doppelganger shook the reins and clucked to the horse, and they rode off down the road, with the saddle empty and Fess speculating on the exact nature of the delusion that was causing Rod to ride pillion.

The trail led along the river, then forked. Rod stopped. "I'd just as soon not go into town right now."

The doppelganger grinned. "Don't trust yourself, eh?"

"Not at all. I mean, it looks like a very nice, quiet little village from here, but who knows what it'll appear to be once I get there?"

"I could go ahead and scout it out," the doppelganger offered.

"Great!" Rod saw a chance to get rid of his other self. "I'll ride around and meet you on the far side."

"Fine. And speaking of meat, I'll stop by the tavern and get you some lunch."

"There's a tavern there?"

"Well, I saw a green bush hanging from a sign bracket, and I don't think it was a florist's."

Rod was tempted, but the thought of dumping his unwanted companion was stronger than the urge for hearth and ale. "I'll be obliged."

The doppelganger grinned. "I know." They both dismounted; he turned away and struck out toward the town.

Rod turned, too, toward the woods—and stopped, one foot in the air. He looked back to see what was holding him, but couldn't see anything—except for his doppel-ganger, stuck in the same pose, apparently straining against it with all his might. Rod lunged toward the wood, exerting every iota of willpower in an attempt to put his foot down—but he couldn't move an inch. "Fess—how come I can't go on?"

"There is no physical cause, Rod."

"Meaning it's psychosomatic. But I need to keep going." Rod turned back to the doppelganger, just as he turned to look at him.

"Something there is that does not like a stall," he said.

Rod winced. "Don't talk about Fess that way."

"I didn't," his double assured him. "It's pretty obvious that something doesn't want us parted."

"Have a heart!"

"I do. So do you, in fact. And something wants the union of true hearts to be preserved."

"You mean I can't get rid of you."

"Hey! Look at it from my side—I can't get away from you!''

"Well, what must be, must be." Rod sighed. "I guess we travel together, or not at all. Come on, let's go."

"And I had my skin all set for heat," the doppelganger griped. "But I have to admit, a hike through the woods is safer than letting you into a town."

Rod scowled. "And are you so much safer than I am?"

"Oh, infinitely safer! You think I'm a figment of your subconscious, don't you?"

"Well…"

"Right. And whoever heard of a mere figment doing any damage?"

"Ever hear of Willy Loman?" Rod jibed. "But I take your point—hopefully on my shield. Come on, let's go."

They did.

They'd been traveling about half an hour when they heard the roar. They jumped for cover, but it was too late. Pounding feet came thundering up to their thicket. "I see yuh, I see yuh!" bellowed a sub-basso. "Come on out and fight like a man!"

"Oh, don't be so tiresome!" a more mellow voice said. "They weren't hurting you in the slightest."

"Shut up, goody-goody! Awright, come out with your hands up!"

Rod came, sword first.

The monster backed away from the point, its snout wrinkling in consternation. "Hey, now! You ain't supposed to fight back!"

"No more than you can expect," the other voice said.

"You shaddup!"

It was a two-headed monster, like a very fat dragon with a rhinoceros's tail and elephant's feet—and it was puce with yellow polka dots. Rod took one look at it and was certain his hallucinations came courtesy of his subconscious.

"I will not shut up," the other head said. "After all, you're trying to threaten them with my body, too."

"My body! You only control the right half!"

"So I do." The right-hand head turned to the two Rods. "I'll have to ask you to pardon this intrusion; I didn't really have much choice in the matter. You can call me 'Dexter.' "

"You don't look very dextrous," the doppelganger pointed out.

It didn't, but the right-hand head did have a pleasant, though bothered, look about it, in spite of being mostly snout and teeth. Its companion head, though, managed to have a sneaky, predatory look with exactly the same features. "Don't you dare call me 'Sinister'!" It swiveled to glare at Rod. "I'll bite off your head! I'll roast you alive!"

"It's been tried." For some reason, Rod was taking a dislike to Sinister. He hefted his blade. "If you think you can argue with cold steel, go ahead and try."

"Cold steel! I'll melt that tin toothpick down into slag!" But Sinister didn't seem eager to try.

"I take it you had some reason for coming up to us," the doppelganger said.

"Reason! Yeah! I'm hungry!"

"Now, Sinister," Dexter murmured, "you know we discussed this."

"Disgusted, maybe! Now, look, Dex, you're gonna follow my lead this time, or I'm gonna fry you to a crisp!"

"I'm sorry, Sinister," Dexter said in a very low voice, "but I absolutely will have nothing to do with this charade." He turned to the two Rods. "You really should hurry on by. This can't be very pleasant for you."

"Right." The doppelganger turned to go.

With a roar, Sinister slapped out the left foot, and the doppelganger leaped back.

"Sinister! You know these people haven't done anything to deserve…"

"They came into my territory, didn't they?" Sinister roared. "They walked down my road, and they didn't even offer to pay for it!"

"Oh!" Rod said, startled. "Did you build the road?"

"Build? What the hell difference does that make? I'm standing on it!"

"I know it's confusing," Dexter said to the doppelganger, "but you really shouldn't let this little scene keep you from…"

"You shut up, jelly-back! If I wanna make these little bastards pay, then…"

Dexter winced. "Please! You really have no reason…"

"Reason!" Sinister bellowed. "You want a reason? I'll give you…"

Rod caught the doppelganger's eye and nodded toward

Dexter's side. The doppelganger sidled toward him, and together, displaying great interest in the argument, they moved slowly around the right side of the creature. On the other side, Fess whinnied and stamped to distract Sinister.

It almost worked; they almost got past him. But at the last moment, Sinister saw them and bawled, "Hey! You come back here!" It charged.

"Back!" Rod shouted, and he and the doppelganger sprang away. Not far enough, though—the huge head was soaring toward him, fangs first.

Dexter dug in the right-side legs and shoved back for all he was worth.

Sinister's head came to a sudden jarring halt; inertia slammed the great jaws closed an inch from Rod's head.

"Back!" Rod snapped, and jabbed Sinister's nose with the point of his sword. The huge head whipped up with a howl, and Rod lowered his blade, just in time for his arm to start trembling.

"Poor Sinister! Are you hurt?" Dexter cried.

"He maimed me!" the dragon wailed. "He cut me!"

"A pinprick!" Rod snorted.

"Understandable," Dexter said reluctantly, "but unnecessary. He's really quite harmless, though he is a bit of a bully."

"Bully? I am not! You take that back!"

"Now, Sinister… you know you…"

"You're the one who's always picking on me!"

"I never!"

"Oh, yeah? Then why won't yuh…"

"They were improper in using force after the danger was past, true. Still, you must admit you…"

"Lemme at 'em!"

And Sinister hurtled toward the Rods again. Dexter dug in, of course, and the result was that Sinister slewed around in a circle, bawling and cursing at his better half— and around and around they went, churning like a pocket tornado, with roaring accusations underscored by firm, quiet counterstatements.

Rod nudged the doppelganger and pointed down the trail in the direction in which they'd been going. The doppelganger nodded, and together, they inched away from the arguing heads, sidling farther away and more toward the side of the road, with Fess pacing them at a discreet distance.

They almost made it into the thicket where the trail curved, but just before they reached the cover of the evergreens, Sinister looked up, saw how far they'd moved, let out a howl like a freight train whose cars had been kidnapped, and charged them.

"Run!" Rod shouted, and did so. But he heard a roar of fury behind him and skidded to a stop behind two evergreens, turning to look, with the doppelganger right beside him.

They had stopped too soon; Sinister was lunging toward them full-strength, with Dexter digging in his heels and pulling back—and their whole body pivoted, swinging around in a huge arc with Sinister's head at the end of it, jaws open wide, shooting right toward Rod.

Rod still had his sword out. He brought it up to guard position—and the huge head flinched away, trying to avoid the blade. Sinister overbalanced, and the body stumbled forward a step; Sinister's head caught Rod side-on, slamming him head over heels into the fir tree.

"Let that learn ya!" Sinister crowed. The effect was somewhat spoiled by the tremor in his voice, though, possibly occasioned by Fess leaping in between the creature and his masters with a screaming whinny, rearing back to lash out with his hooves. Sinister flinched away.

Which was just as well, because Rod came scrambling back out of the fir tree with blood in his eye. "You chuckle-headed lumpish fugitive from an overloaded nightmare! You crumb! Of ill-digested cheese! You…"

"Please!" Dexter protested, wounded. "I tried my best!"

"Not you—your… Well, him!" Rod aimed his sword at Sinister, who flinched back.

The doppelganger had his sword up, too, but gave Rod a knowing look and lowered his blade. Reluctantly, so did Rod. Fess saw, and snorted as he stepped aside.

That was all the opening Sinister needed. "Scared, huh?" he cried in glee, and leaped—or at least, the left-hand side of the body did. The right-hand side planted itself firmly—and the monster tripped over its own feet. Bellowing, it rolled heads over heels down the slope beside the trail, crashing through twigs and underbrush, and caroming off tree trunks.

"The poor beast," Rod whispered.

"Poor, my aunt Fanny!" his doppelganger snapped. "He's rubber—he bounces! Our job is to get out of here before Sinister manages to get his side moving enough to drag Dexter back up to the trail. Come on—run!"

They stopped after a mile, staggering up against tree trunks and wheezing for breath. The chill winter air stabbed their lungs like tiny knives. Fess slowed and stopped behind them.

"Must be getting—outa shape," Rod gasped. "A mile never did this to me… before."

"Yeah, but this mile… was through foot-deep snow," the doppelganger answered.

"I would have carried you, Rod," Fess reproached him.

"I didn't want to take the time to… mount." Rod forced himself back to his feet, looking around. "Well… better keep… going. Which way… now?"

"Good… question," the doppelganger puffed, pushing himself away from the tree.

They found themselves staring at a fork in the trail.

"Which branch?" Rod murmured.

"Dexter, or Sinister?" his doppelganger responded.

"You have but to ask."

They looked around, staring.

A trunk detached itself from the trees and stepped forward between the two arms of the fork. They discovered, with starts of surprise, that it was a man. He was a foot taller than either of them, and his clothes were the dark gray of bark. The same fabric shrouded his head in a cowl.

Rod exchanged a wary look with his double. The doppelganger nodded and sidled around the stranger, loosening his sword in its sheath.

The bark-man folded his cowl back.

Rod stared—the man's whole face seemed to curve upward on the sides. His mouth was a grin, and the corners of his eyes tilted up. His bunched cheeks were so red they could have been spots of paint. He looked as though the mere idea of sadness had never even touched him.

"He's a happy-face," Rod said.

"No, he's not," the doppelganger contradicted. "You should see him from the back! He's a sad-face."

"Gentlemen, gentlemen!" The stranger lifted both hands in appeal. "I am both—Comedy before and Tragedy after!"

Rod didn't like what that said about the man's view of life. "And I'm supposed to ask you which path to take to my future?'

The stranger shrugged and said gaily, "Why trouble yourself with the future?" From behind, the same voice said, with dire tones, "To me, all futures are past."

Rod decided the man would have done well in commodities.

"Wherever you go," counseled Mirth, "there is much to enjoy; for there is beauty in all things, and vividness in every experience."

"Experience is a history of pain," answered Tragedy, "for ugliness and squalor prevail."

The doppelganger cocked an eyebrow in skepticism. "You boys really can't agree on anything, can you?"

"Aye," said Mirth, "on Unity!"

"We concur on Duality," Tragedy explained.

"They can't even agree on what they agree on," Rod said to the doppelganger, exasperated.

"Oh, they do, if you look at it the right way." The doppelganger tilted his head way to the side. "I mean, after all, the Duality is just the two aspects of Eternity."

"Not you, too," Rod groaned. "Look, can we get down to basics here?" He turned back to the two-faced man. "Which way should we go?"

"To the right," said Mirth; so of course:

"To the left," said Tragedy.

"Got a coin?" Rod asked the doppelganger.

"Why?"

" 'Cause I'm ready to flip."

"Chance brings disaster," Tragedy intoned.

"Chance may bring happiness," Mirth responded.

"Why did I know that was coming?" Rod muttered. He looked up at Fess. "Can you make sense out of all this?"

"Not readily," Fess answered. "However, I do detect a slight depression in the snow between the two paths of the fork."

Rod whirled, staring."I don't see anything."

"It is a matter of averaging the bumps in the snow, Rod."

"I'll take your word for it." Rod stepped forward toward the center.

"Back!" cried Mirth.

"You must not go there!" cried Tragedy.

"At last," muttered the doppelganger, "something they agree on."

Both faces whirled toward him at the same moment—or tried to. The only real result was that the two-faced man lurched aside, and Rod dodged past him.

"Stop!" shrieked Mirth.

"Avoid moderation!" lamented Tragedy.

But Rod was kicking the snow aside, and discovered a very faint, but discernible, track. "Come on," he said to the doppelganger, who jumped to follow him.

The two-faced man lumbered into motion, following them with the ungainly stride of a man who is of two minds about an issue, reaching out with clumsy arms. "The Middle Way is forbidden!"

"There is nothing amusing in synthesis!"

Fess took two leaps and stood astride the trail between the two Rods and the two-faced man, who blundered into him with a loud "Oo/!" and rebounded, falling over his own feet and collapsing. He was scrabbling back up in a minute, but Fess had turned away, and the guardian of extremes found himself facing a horsetail.

With a sigh and a shake of his head, he turned back to face the single trail again.

Rod had to kick his way through leafless ground vines, last year's leaves and fallen sticks, to find the path. He was glad he favored stout boots, and kept them heavily waxed. "I assume this will take us someplace."

"Someplace not overly favored by those who search for fame and fortune, at a guess," the doppelganger returned.

"Well, yes," Rod agreed, "but not too many of those find either one, do they?"

The doppelganger shrugged. "Myself, I wouldn't know. I keep trying for obscurity."

Rod nodded. "I know the feeling. All I want is a calm, peaceful, quiet, contented existence."

"Wonder why we never get it?" the doppelganger mused.

"Because we want it, of course… Whoa! What's this?"

Rod had parted a screen of brush, and they found themselves staring out at a broad road on top of a ridge.

"It's the King's Highway." said the doppelganger softly.

Rod grinned. "Of course. We go looking for a quiet life, and what do we find?"

"I'll take the low road," the doppelganger said quickly.

"But you'll get the high one," Rod answered. "Come on—let's see what tranquillity and solitude await us here."

It was out onto the highway then with Fess scrambling up behind them. They mounted the great iron steed and set off down the middle of the road.

The chill deepened as the sky darkened. To make matters worse, the trees began to crowd in at either side of the road.

"Maybe we ought to stop and consider digging in for the night," the doppelganger suggested.

"Just what I was thinking." Rod shivered. "A nice campfire and some roasting pheasants…"

A huge snarling yowl tore the stillness, and six strapping figures leaped out of the woods, three on each side, muscles rippling under fur. They stood upright like men, but had the heads of cats. Their feet were encased in boots, but their arms ended in genuine hands, albeit fur-covered and clawed; and they wore knee-length mail-shirts, criscrossed by weapons belts.

They attacked with feline screams, two of them leaping for Fess's bridle; but the great black horse tossed his head, knocking one of them aside, and struck the other away with a hoof.

Rod spun around on the horse's rump, drawing his sword and dagger, setting his back against the doppelganger's. A huge cat-man sprang up on the horsehair, scimitar swinging down. Rod parried, just barely managing to keep his blade intact, and riposted. The point struck a leather belt, skidded, and scored through fur. The cat shrank back, screaming—and slipped off the rump. Another landed in its place, splitting and snarling, sword flashing around in a flat arc. Rod ducked and lurched forward, hooking upward with his dagger. A tremendous shock jarred him, but he held his place, and the cat screamed, its eyes beginning to dull even as it slipped back and away.

Then, suddenly, it was over. Two dead cats lay staining the snow with their blood, and the other four were fleeing back into the trees, spitting and snarling. Rod stared in surprise, then turned with a grin. "I don't know what you managed to do to them, O alter ego, but you…"

The doppelganger slumped, slipped out of the saddle, and sprawled on the ground.

Rod stared in shock.

"Rod?" Fess asked. "What has happened?"

"Can't you see?" Rod leaped down and knelt beside his own huddled form. "Where'd they get you? Quick! Maybe I can staunch the flow!"

"Too… late…" the doppelganger gasped. "Carotid… cut…"

It was true. The whole front of his doublet was soaked in blood.

"What happened? No, don't answer—one of them got past your guard. With those claws, one swipe would do it." Rod leaped up and dug through the saddlebag frantically. "Got to be something in here! Fess, I told you we should have packed some plasma!"

"Don't… trouble…"the doppelganger gasped.

"Don't trouble!" Rod whirled back down, staring at his own wan visage. "I can't let you die!"

"Do," the doppelganger urged. "Don't… trouble… I'll be back when… you need…"

His voice trailed off, and his eyes dulled.

Rod stared, kneeling, frozen in the snow.

"Rod."

"Not now!" Rod glanced up at Fess in irritation, but when he turned back to the doppelganger, he was gone. There wasn't even a hollow in the snow to show where he had been.

Rod stared.

"What has happened, Rod?"

"Six cat-men just attacked us,'' Rod heard himself explaining. "We killed two…" He glanced around. "I don't see them, either… And we chased off the rest. But one of them slit my double's throat."

"I had surmised as much," the robot sympathized. "But how shall we bury him, when the ground is frozen?"

'Rod glanced up at him in irritation. "Come off it! You know he wasn't really there."

Then he stopped, startled by his own words.

"Neither were the bandits," Fess told him. "There were only two peasants, dressed in remarkably well kept brown jerkins and leggins. You drove them off."

But Rod wasn't listening. He was staring at the barren, unstained snow and muttering, "All the monsters we meet can't do more damage than cat-men do. Damn! Just when I thought I was getting to know myself, too!"

He sighed, mounted Fess, and turned away from the road, riding deeper into the forest.